


Meanwhile, Back on the Farm

by spn_j2fan



Series: Journey 'verse [3]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spn_j2fan/pseuds/spn_j2fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back on Pershebe, life is returning to normal...for most at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of [Journey 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/51149). You need to read [The Journey of the Prince of Fayar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/887684) at least first. It will probably make more sense if you read both parts already posted. :)
> 
> This part is short, and contains no explicit activity. I am keeping the rape/non-con warning because it is a crucial part of the 'verse. The main characters are not in this part, but are mentioned throughout.
> 
> Thanks for all the support and comments, I really appreciate it!!

After the Taking, it was only a matter of weeks before life returned to normal on Pershebe—for most of its inhabitants at least. Even two months later, life had not returned to normal for Christian, it most likely never would. But for Sarah, Jensen’s mother, it certainly never would.

Christian ambled along the bank of the _Risach_ , confident that he would not be seen. _Abeil_ remained hidden behind the dark clouds, and snow was shimmering all around him in a translucent white veil. The thick, white fur cloak he had stitched together himself from the hides of countless _berabas_ camouflaged him faultlessly. Even if it had not, most of Pershebe was hidden inside their homes or below ground—the sirens had sounded out their warning nearly an hour ago. Nevertheless, he pulled the furred hood closer around his head to mask his long, dark hair.

These days, he rarely left the underground caverns. His few ventures above ground were to gather food or to evacuate in haste preceding the next drill. Each time the alarm blared, he had to vacate his new home, making way for Pershebe’s youth, and wander above ground until the alarms clanged again, signaling parents to come reclaim their youth. Today was one of those days.

He stared out over the frozen, icy patches in the river—crystallized splotches that looked like glass lily pads where the current was held at bay by rocks or debris long enough to freeze the surface water—and remembered the day so many years ago, when he had persuaded Jensen to skip Academy for a day and follow him to this very spot. They had seen many swimmers that day, skimming the surface and even leaping above as they traveled toward the great blue waters.  Chris grinned at the thought, scanning the river in each direction to see if he could spot a single swimmer. But he could not. Even with the swift current moving the water relentlessly forward, the cold drove the swimmers deep, and they would not spring back to the surface until the New quarter-turn.

Never once in his life had he considered himself anything but a fighter. Well, perhaps there was a part of him that had always been foremost a protector.  But survivalist? No, this was all new to him. Yet in the span of a mere three weeks, Christian had gone from the highly esteemed status of _Fighter_ to outcast and finally to nothing more than survivalist. And if he was not careful, soon he would be dubbed _Unfortunate_.

He had Jensen’s father, Lucan, to thank for his getaway, but only himself and Jensen to credit for his continued survival. He learned quickly to find shelter from the rain, and later, against the freeze. He taught himself to trap and cook the wily _berabas_. No one had told him how tasty the crafty little animals were, but there was not much to them, and he often went without meat for days. If not for all the time Christian had spent in past years accompanying his younger friend on his "scientific explorations," Chris would have died ingesting some poisonous plant in his first week in the hills.

Skinning and stitching? Those skills he had taught himself—under duress. When his toes went from incessantly cold and rigid, to numb and swollen, the blue tinge turning purple even next to the flames of the fire, he knew his choices were limited. He had to learn to survive or he would most certainly perish before the ice melted on the _Risach_ and new life surged to the surface.

So, within weeks it was true, the mighty young fighter and protector of his people was reduced to a mere hunter and gatherer, hoping to survive from one day to the next. For what purpose, he was still uncertain.

The alarms sounded out suddenly, and Christian dropped to the ground, pulling his cloak over him to cover himself completely. He was far enough away from most villages and cavern adits that few would pass by his location; still, there was no need to take unnecessary risks. In later quarter-turns, he would have to come up with a better plan to hinder discovery, but as the snow sprinkled all around him, no one would take notice of his presence along side the _Risach_.

Time moved slowly while he waited to return to his new home, so Christian peeked out from beneath his cloak just far enough to catch a glimpse of the water rushing past--down the steep slope of the riverbank and to his right. Above him, the thick fur provided shelter from the elements, but from the ground, the cold and wet seeped through his clothes and his hands and knees were going numb.

For distraction, he grabbed a tiny pebble between his thumb and forefinger, and flicked it forward, casually tracking its progress as it found the path of least resistance and joined the flow of the river.

“No!” He cried out.  It was not in him to follow that path of least resistance, and he knew where he needed to be.  He rose to his feet and ran toward his suddenly realized destination at full speed.

Everything was clear. And he would not forget. He was running, and the energy he exerted warmed  his limbs. He shed his heavy cloak to hasten his progress.

It had been a week since Jensen had disappeared from his side—yes, disappeared, because when Chris awoke, flat on his back amid the tall grass adorning the riverbank, and scratching at the new, whip-thin, white scar that licked along the entirety of his right flank, the Pelunga bushes were stripped bare and Jensen was gone. It could have been a dream, but if it had been, the berries would still have been in place. So yes, Jensen had vanished. And then one week later, a replacement had arrived.

Brock was a good kid, and anxious to help out on Lucan’s farm. Apparently the kid was an orphan, and had spent the majority of his life working for the soil-masters—not as an _Unfortunate_ , simply as a learner. But still, it was no wonder that Lucan’s home was a dream come true for the young man.

Christian was still running. He could not stop yelling, either, although he no longer seemed to be forming words.

Brock was good for Lucan once the Elders had called Jensen’s father to the Council and named him one of their own. For the next two weeks, Lucan was away from the farm more than he was home. Brock worked hard and kept the farm going. Harvest time came, and Christian took leave from his fighter training to help Brock clear the fields. It helped fill the void he felt in his chest, and perhaps mitigated some of the guilt, at least momentarily.  And it helped Jensen’s parents—the closest thing to family Christian really remembered.

Sarah welcomed Brock into her home. She was kind and gentle toward him—like she always was with Christian. But she was never Christian’s mother, and he had never tried to pretend she was. There was a hollowness in all of her motions now.  Things were different, and for some reason, only Sarah and Christian seemed to understand that.

Four weeks after the Taking, the rules changed. The Council summoned, so everyone came. Christian took his place with many of the otherfighters, encircling the Elders and focusing outward, protecting them from some phantom threat. He remembered standing proud and tall despite his despondence.

With each Taking, the Elders had said that more was learned. _Lucan_ had said that more was learned. Now they knew that their youth could not be permitted to travel farther than a two-minute run from any cavern entrance between their fifteenth and twentieth turns. And as an extra precaution, the normal five-year reprieve from drills that followed a Taking would no longer apply. Despite the fact that no two Takings had ever occurred within a twenty-year span, the drills would continue as if nothing had happened. As if Jensen had not existed.

Christian had a long way to go, and if he wanted to make it there without detection, he needed to stop the yelling. He could run and still keep his passion silent.

The night of the Council’s summons was the night he had gone from mighty fighter to outcast, possibly even to _Unfortunate_ , if not for Lucan’s intervention.

“What are you saying?” Christian remembered turning toward the Elders and demanding. It was unheard of. He was there to protect, not to speak. “Are you saying that Jensen did something wrong? He did not!  I was there! I do not recall what happened in the end, but I do remember that he ran…and that he feared!” From the corner of his eye Christian could see Lucan’s head drop. The older man did not need the reminder.

Serkan looked around before he chose to offer a response, but the assembly hummed with barely contained apprehension, waiting for answers, for hope, for anything that would reassure them that one of their children would not be the next taken.

“We cannot say what was right or wrong,” the Chief Elder closed his eyes and lost himself in the sing-song rhythm of the chants of the ancients. “We can only do our best to protect future generations…”

The gathering began chanting along with the familiar words, and Christian stared out into the crowd, unbelieving, as their eyes closed and they swayed with the rhythm and nodded in agreement.

“What?!” Christian roared, this time going so far as to jump upon the raised dais. He looked out upon the startled faces of the people he had known since his sixth turn, and then turned his gaze to Serkan. “Nothing we have done has _ever_ stopped a Taking. And you would have us believe these ridiculous changes will make a difference? How can that be?”

Several eyes met his first, and then darted between him and Serkan in confusion.

Serkan nodded toward the other Fighters, and moments later the men whom Chris had called friends—brothers-in-arms even—were circling threateningly around him.

Led by the Elder, the chanting renewed, and it seemed as if the crowd had forgotten Christian and his outburst entirely.

Beyond the ring of Fighters, another ring of Elders, Lucan included, reinforced the threat. For the first time in his life, Christian felt betrayed.

The inner ring of Fighters was cautiously closing in; Christian glanced around in all directions. Backing up did him no good; forward progress just brought him closer to another armed Fighter. He had nowhere to go, and the entire time, he could hear Serkan chanting about protecting future generations in the background.

Just as Christian prepared to wield his weapon to challenge as much of the threat as he could, Lucan swirled and stumbled, dropping to the ground with flair and taking out the three Fighters closest to him. He meticulously and miraculously cut a perfect swath through the line of Fighers. Lucan moaned aloud the hallowed words of the chant, and then followed them with jumbled phrases of personal loss in a voice so lost and vacant that none could fault him later for his transient “spell.”

But Christian took advantage of the gap Lucan created, and snuck through it before anyone noticed more than the despair of a fallen Elder.

That was what Lucan had done for Christian. It was something the younger man would never forget. Lucan might have caved after the loss of his son, accepted what the Elders offered as recompense, but the light was not completely absent from the older man’s path.

But could he forgive Lucan for joining the ranks of the Elders? That was doubtful.

None of that mattered now, though.  Christian wanted answers. He was not going with the flow anymore. Not that of the river, or the Elders, or anyone else.

He ran past two startled youths. Beneath his fur cloak, his clothing was tattered and scant, so with the snow-white furred garment shed, and running at full speed, he presented quite a spectacle. It was not much farther though, so his worries grew dimmer.

Christian was so close, and the memories of Sarah were so fresh, that it was difficult to pass by at a full run. But he had a purpose now, a reason behind his madness, and he was sure the old woman would forgive him this one transgression.

It was six weeks, exactly six weeks to the day of Jensen’s disappearance, that Sarah succumbed to age and sorrow. Christian had not been there, but he heard the Elders’ words at her Ceremony of Passage. He watched from behind a distant tree and hoped Lucan could tell he was there.

It grieved him to think that the woman had died without a single soul mate to share her sorrow, but his presence would have hurt her more. Watching him collared and dragged away from her bedside might have hastened her departure, and surely would have made her happier for it.

As odd as it sounded, the man who had shared her life could not share her grief. And for some reason, Christian understood that. She and Christian shared in mourning.  He ran passed her marker, yelled out one final, furious snarl, and then promised her silently that her son was not forgotten. That he would never be forgotten.

Within moments, Christian was in the barn. He barreled into the huge bales of grain until they gave way, one after the other, and then tossed sacks of fruits and seeds to the side. With one hand, his nails dug into the thick clay that had dried around the edges of the trapdoor, and with the other, he tugged at the string, hoping to free it. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his hair covered his eyes, but he refused to let it distract him—he did not need to see what he was doing, he only needed to feel.

The ground shifted, the clay cracked, and the door gave way with a low groan. Christian grunted aloud as he separated it from the barn floor, barely hearing the last clumps of clay falling away and trickling into the darkness beneath. He took his first step down.

“What are you looking for?” A voice asked.

“Answers,” he responded.


	2. Chapter 2

Marshal Roché sighed heavily in relief as he caught a glimpse of Commander Cassidy’s frigate-class warship reentering orbit just beyond the last vapor levels surrounding Pershebe. Finally, the entire Royal Guard was again complete.

The protection service was a three-ship detail, and it was a lifelong commitment to the safekeeping of Pershebe for those fortunate enough to be chosen and deemed worthy of the honor. Currently, Marshal Roché’s own Command vessel, Commander Cassidy’s ship, and Commander Benedict’s destroyer-class warship orbited the planet continuously, protecting Pershebe from foreign threats and ensuring that its inhabitants never realized such threats existed. But even for warriors so committed, some respite was necessary. So every three years, one crew would return to Freyrusia to take leave, resupply, gather information and new technology, and in general, to remember that they occasionally had a life beyond service.

Freyrusia was the perfect place. It was a planet mostly untouched by Empire politics because it was beyond the Radon Bands and communications were shoddy at best, and the Royal Guardsmen could wander the streets without worrying about being questioned about who they were or where they came from. On occasion, they “frolicked” too much and the unexpected occurred. Roché remembered the last time that happened—it had been a very long time ago, and thankfully, not under his command. He had been a young man then, a mere lieutenant watching from the sidelines and gasping in disbelief as his ship returned to its patrol with another young officer swelling with child.

It had worked out well though, it was one of the few times the Fayarian commanders had called for a meeting with the Pershebian Elders, and the child had been accepted into their community after only a couple of years of development. It had been for the best. Every Royal Guard knew and understood that life on a space vessel was not the life for a child, even one conceived by two select Fayarian warriors.

Roché relaxed deeper into his command chair. These passed nine months had been long. With only two ships to orbit the planet, that left a huge gap in their normal patrol pattern, and each time they turned into an unforeseen path, each commanding officer had to sound out alarms, necessitating a full alert, for they could not guess what might be lurking beyond their view, and they would not take the chance that an attack might occur during their watch.

Such an honor it had been to be selected for the Royal Guard. Roché had spent more than half his life here. Rarely had his feet touched soil. But he was proud of his service, as was his crew, and he remembered fondly how the cheers of celebration roared throughout his ship as the Royal vessel and its entourage had entered the atmosphere. It was the first time he or any of his crew had been witness to such an event. The Royal Guard did not interfere, that was not their mission, but they whooped and hollered just as loudly when the Royal vessel departed. Surely it had been a successful mission. Why else would they have come and gone so quickly?

But now he was low on supplies and eagerly awaited his rendezvous with Commander Cassidy.

“Marshal Roché,” Cassidy’s voice was hazy over the link, sounding strained, but he could tell it was her.

“Here,” he replied. “Report.”

“I have…news, Marshal,” she continued. “I am requesting a formal meeting, sir. The presence of the three commanders will be required.”

Roché immediately sat forward and lifted the comm directly to his ear. “You are still hours away from shuttle distance. I will contact Commander Benedict and we will assemble in my private conference room upon your arrival.”

“Agreed,” Cassidy stated, breaking the connection.

Roché had much to think about while he waited.

________________________  


 

“It is just a simple lab, set up by a simple youth, Christian. What answers do you think you will find down there?” Lucan asked.

Chris could not see the old man, the light in the barn was fair at best, but with _Abeil_ already low in the sky and hidden behind dark clouds, all he could do was rely on the voice he knew so well.

“If I do not look, then I will never know, will I?” Christian challenged, throwing the hatch the rest of the way open.

“You do not understand. He is no longer the youth you knew.” Lucan’s voice wavered, nearly on the verge of losing itself to emotion. Christian had not heard him like this since…well, ever. Chris was angry, but he still hovered on the first step.

“How do you know?” He growled, “Because _they_ told you?”

Lucan fell to his knees, sobbing. “Please,” he begged, “You are all that I have remaining. I think of you as family. Do not take that away from an old man. Hide here, Christian. Do not make me watch them collar you and drag you away.”

Christian stepped out of the stairwell and came closer to the older man. He put a hand on his shoulder and crouched down. “I am sorry, Lucan,” he whispered gently, pushing the fine wisps of graying hair away from the older man's brow. “You have been good to me. But I can’t. I need to find answers. I need to find out why.”

Lucan brushed his hand away and rose. He walked to the stairs; the hitch in his step was obvious. Christian still remembered when that great beast of a cart animal crushed Lucan’s left foot. If not for Jensen’s quick action to draw the animal’s attention away, and later, his tender care, the old man would not be walking today. Lucan struggled down the steps without a word. When he got to the floor of Jensen’s tiny lab, he lit a torch and looked up at Christian questioningly. “Then close that door behind you and join me. I will tell you all that I know.”

_____________________________  


 

The door to Roché’s conference room had barely closed behind Katie before she swore and threw her courier bag on the table with enough anger and force that it slid along the entire length, only coming to a stop directly in front of the marshal. They each had such a bag for documents so private that only the commanders were allowed access.

Both Sebastian and Rob stood immediately.

“He’s dead!” she screamed, slamming both hands down on the table. Her expression twisted in pain. This was clearly the first time she had been able to express any emotion. Falling to her knees, her chin scraping the edge of the table, she cried out, “Oh Gods! Prince Jared is dead!”

Sebastian ran around the table to his youngest commander and lifted her to her feet. “Stop!” He ordered sternly, tempering the command with a gentle pat on her back. “Now, sit down, gather yourself, and explain.”

Katie nodded, grabbing a glass of water and barely noticing as Rob swiped away traces of blood from her chin. “A sailor-class ship. J-just before I left. That is how I know.” She nodded to the older men as if her explanation was complete.

“Commander Cassidy!” Roché demanded,his voice low and commanding as he knelt at her side. “Pull yourself together! Explain!”

Katie sat up suddenly and let out a deep breath.  “I am sorry, sir. Just prior to my departure, a small vessel arrived from Fayar to inform me that the Royal vessel and its guardian fleet had been intercepted and destroyed by the Nechi-Mou. The heir was l-lost.” Tears began streaking down her cheeks.

Roché brushed a hand across her cheek reassuringly. “But why would they? What would they gain?”

Katie stared at him. “The Nechi-Mou have never needed reasons beyond battle and chaos and bloodshed. This time they achieved all three.”

“I do not believe it!” Rising to his feet again and pacing across the room in thought, he continued, “What proof do we have? And what are they asking of us now?”

Katie looked at him, bewildered. “Proof? I do not know. All I know is that they are absolving us of our duty to protect Pershebe. Leader Jeff has officially disbanded the Royal Guard, and I have returned without new supplies. Leader Jeff sent a statement thanking us for our dedication and service, and saying that while he mourns the loss of his son, there is no reason to waste precious resources so far from home. He requests that we return the assets of Fayar _to_ Fayar.”

“Rubbish!” Roché exclaimed. “Leader Jeff is in no position to disband the Royal Guard. “What gall that man has always had. I am glad to have never met him.” Sebastian turned to Benedict who had yet to voice his opinion. The other commander was soft-spoken and reserved, but when he spoke it was most often with careful insight and well-chosen words.

“What say you, Benedict?” Marshal Roché asked, doing his best to use words that might just challenge the other officer.

“I say there is no proof and no royal dictate, Marshal Roché, so there is no question about...”

“Exactly!” Roché agreed.

“There are two other questions though,” Benedict continued as if the marshal had not interrupted.  “One of which is easily answered.”

“And those would be?” Sebastian took the bait.

“Who returns to Freyrusia for answers. That is the easy one,” Rob smirked.  “And who goes to the Elders on Pershebe to beg for supplies while we wait. That one is much more difficult.”

Both men laughed and Katie looked upon them as if both had gone mad.

Sebastian took pity on his youngest commander and explained. “I do not believe for a minute that the Nechi-Mou would bring down the wrath of the entire Fayarian Empire for a little sport. I think this a ruse to draw us away from the post we have sworn a lifelong oath to protect. Do you wish to break that oath without proof?”

“No! Of course not!” She exclaimed.

“Good, then we are all in agreement. Commander Benedict will return to Freyrusia for verification of the information with as many supplies as we can procure. His ship is the newest and fastest. And he is the only one of us who has actually met both Leader Jeff and Prince Jared.”

“You have?” Cassidy questioned.

“It was not a pleasant occasion,” Benedict explained. “I had not yet been selected for the Royal Guard when Magre, the beautiful, passed onto her next journey. It was a terrible occasion, but I was an officer, so I was present for the event.”

“And I will be the one to meet with the Elders on Pershebe,” Roché interrupted. “As Marshal of the Royal Guard, that is my duty. This is a sad time for Fayar.”

“And Pershebe.” Again, Benedict’s soft words carried much weight.

____________________________  


 

“And that is his fate?” Christian asked. He had sat in silence, having listened all the while as Lucan explained all that he knew. “Jensen has not passed into the Great Darkness?”

“It is my hope that he has not,” Lucan agreed. “I do not know what he might have found in his new life, but I hope he can at least find happiness.” Lucan did not weep any longer, but the tears still welled in his eyes. “He is still my son.”

A series of beeps began to trill from above the underground lab. It sounded like it came from within the barn itself and repeated the same, vibrating pattern of sounds over and over.

“What is that?” Christian asked.

Lucan raised his head and listened. He rose and headed back toward the stairs. “Oh, no! That is the summoning call for the Elders. They told me of it and let me hear it once, but they also explained that there has not been such a call for more than twenty tides. Such a summons is very rare and means that the Protectors require a meeting.”

“Then I will go with you!” Christian hurried to join the older man.

Lucan leaned heavily on the youth and trembled. "It is cold outside, Christian. Let me find you clothing first. Promise me just one thing. Promise me that you will remain out of sight.”

_______________________  


 

“…so you see, the Pershebian Protectorate is temporarily cut off from Fayarian supply,” the Marshal explained. That was the best Christian could make out from hiding place far outside the last ring of Elders. “We are not abandoning you or our mission, nor will we ever, but we are humbly requesting your assistance to maintain a semblance of protection until Commander Benedict can return with supplies and the reassurance that the heir and his chosen are safely en route to Fayar.”

The assembled Elders began whispering amongst themselves, Lucan glanced back toward Christian’s hiding place more than once.

“I do not know…” Serkan began.

Lucan rose from his place in the outer, lowliest ring of Elders, as he may not have in the past. “I did not lose my son for naught!” He bellowed.

“Give it to them!” Christian leaped out. “Whatever they need to make sure that Jensen is safe. That any one of ours is safe!” Then he turned to Roché, “Take me with you! If he has indeed passed into the Great Darkness, Sarah will be there to comfort him, and I will stay behind to avenge his loss! If he is still here, I will find him!”

Roché chuckled, “Oh, mighty warrior, your charge was beyond your grasp the moment he departed this planet. If you find him alive, will you still seek to protect him no matter how he has changed?”

Christian growled at the challenge. “My friend can never be less than my friend in my eyes. My protection is his forever!”

“Then come,” Roché tilted his head with a smirk. “You never belonged here anyway.”

Christian walked past the Elders with a glance for Lucan alone. “Lucan?” he asked, “Come with us?”

“I am a broken old man, Christian, with nothing left to offer,” Lucan muttered, bowing his head low. “But promise me that if you find my son still living, you will find a way to let me know.” He paused and looked around the room. “And if not, I suppose we will all find our way to the Great Darkness soon enough. Go now, Christian. I have great faith in you.”

Christian nodded, and followed the foreigner, his new commander, out of the room.


End file.
